Right Before Your Eyes
by xtestamentx
Summary: After the credits of LXG, they disapointed a lot of people with NO CLIP. Well, here's what I think should have happened, after we had stayed in cinema seats, right until the end of the credits. Dorian Grey was of course, an Immortal.


_Disclaimer and other stuffs: _Unfortunately, I don't own any of these characters. They all belong to their original creators, blah diddy blah; so don't sue me, unless you want a horde of Dust Bunnies attacking yer behind. 

_Spoiler Warning: _ Don't read this fanfic if you haven't seen the movie. 

_Summary: _You know, how sometimes after the movies credits they have a quick end clip? Examples; Pirates of the Caribbean, A Knight's Tale, etc. Well, LXG didn't have one, which pissed me off greatly. Gah to their unimaginative souls! So- I decided to make one of my own. 

Think of it as… a goodbye to Dorian.

Right Before Your Eyes 

All was quiet around that certain dank end of London, the street lamps flickering eerily every few moments. And there, alone and shrouded in some silver mist, was that house by the docks. It was always there, though no one seemed to notice it. Like some invisible force field hung over it, blocking it from unwanted gazes. Whoever _did _notice it, however, had always thought it was abandoned, or haunted. They had been partly wrong, but in some words, it was the latter. Certainly after the final death of its owner, the house would crumble without someone to care for it. Yet, it was not completely abandoned, as one certain Vampire would soon show.

She had appeared almost magically, out of the thick fog, her high-heeled boots the only sound on the cobbled road. A thick red scarf was wrapped around her neck, long funeral-black dress swaying with frayed edges just off the ground. Her stature was, one could say, elegant. A long neck, pale skin, haughty façade and wind swept chocolate hair made her seem like some uncharted beauty, only heard of in dreams. 

Held tightly under one slender arm, was a painting. A cloth was draped across it; to protect it from offending weather, and as the woman neared the door to the chilly house, she glanced down at it, and took a deep breath. 

Somehow she opened the lock, and the thick oaken door swung open with a creak. The woman stepped in, and pulled back the veil which hid her face, revealing her as the one and only Wilhelmina Harker, also known as Mina by many. Including the one that this house used to belong to. 

Mina looked around, taking in the appearance of the place for maybe the third time in her long-lived life. Or death, rather. Soft eyes rested on the staircase, and soon lofted up to that space- that space that had been so curious, a space amidst an entire wall of paintings, where one was missing. 

'Your missing a painting, Mr. Grey.' The Hunter had said. 

'And you never miss a thing.' The Immortal had answered, sly as ever. 

Professor Harker allowed a supple smile of amusement to flicker across her lips, and she proceeded up the steps, the hem of her dress just whispering along the cold floor. Soon after she had reached the landing, Mina pulled the painting from under her arm, and then the grey drape from that. 

She didn't dare look at it, for the fact it might cause her to stop what she was doing. But instead, she closed her eyes as soon as the artwork came into view, and averted her gaze to that deserted space. With an almost longing sigh, she stretched her arms up, and an old piece of string hooked almost immediately onto the tough nail that protruded from the cracking wall. Mina released her grip on the painting, and took a step back, eyes glittering.

He stared back down at her, face expressionless, but with a tad of 'I know I'm far better than you' look to it. He too, was considered elegant, handsome. The strong and silent type, but the one that sometimes strayed off the path. 

Dorian Grey had faced his own demons, and now, well, who knows where he had gone. Mina didn't believe in Hell. She didn't believe in Heaven, either. So- she simply stared up at those almost longing deep-set eyes, locks of brown hanging fashionably over his forehead. 

Outside, on the dock, just at the edge of the water, there stood a man. He was dressed all in grey, dark hair rolling smoothly onto his shoulders, and topped with an expensive looking hat. He half leant on a staff, watching the graceful water calmly. His gaze never flickered, and that air of arrogance hung around him. He looked solid, he looked… alive. But how could one tell? In a matter of moments, the fog had thickened, disguising him from view. When it had cleared, the man was nowhere to be seen, not even the sound of shoes against the hard stone was heard. 

What can I say? I told you the place was haunted.


End file.
